


The Second Time Around

by merisunshine36



Series: Spidermom [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Background Character Death, Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Lies, Older Characters, Past Relationship(s), Shameless Smut, no infidelity, teenage summer love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 10:57:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11553759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merisunshine36/pseuds/merisunshine36
Summary: This isn't the first time Tony and May have met. It's not even the first time they've been in each other's pants.





	The Second Time Around

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the incomparable thedeadparrot for the beta!
> 
> See end of fic for spoilery content notes.
> 
> I tagged this with Spiderman: Homecoming as it is definitely more about May and her role in Peter's life then anything that happens in Civil War, but chronologically this is set during the Queens scene in CW and, save for one (non-spoilery) line, you do not need to have seen S:W to follow the plot or character references.

May Parker is not the greatest dancer in the world, but she can shake a tailfeather like nobody's business in her Wednesday Zumba class. It's been her thing, ever since Ben died. Therapist recommended. Ben had mellowed out considerably in middle age; his off-duty hours usually found him taking strolls through the park, fishing, or playing a mean hand of gin rummy. 

May tried to go fishing without him in the months following his death. In one of her less lucid moments, she wondered if she could somehow cast a line and he'd be on the other end, waiting. In reality, she had just fallen asleep long enough to leave her with a nasty sunburn.The fishing rods were dropped off at the thrift store on the way home. When she told this to Priscilla, her therapist, she handed May a list of classes at the local community center. 

"May, you need to find your own passion," she'd said. "Do something that's just for you."

And you know what? It turns out that dancing to Pitbull until no one in the room can tell that your sweat is actually tears is pretty cathartic. 

May gathers her sticky hair back into a ponytail and leans on the heavy gym door until it screeches open. Once she's outside, the rush of cool air makes her abruptly aware of the clammy sensation of cooling sweat under armpits. Out front there's a stocky guy in a nondescript suit leaning against a Rolls Royce; he's holding a tablet whose screen calls out MAY PARKER . She looks around, expecting to see a camera crew or something. Maybe the Publisher's Clearinghouse Prize Patrol has finally found her after all these years. One summer, May spent all her babysitting money on their magazine subscriptions in the hopes she would win. So if anyone deserves it, it's her. Then again, she's not too sure Publisher's Clearinghouse is still even a thing.

"Did I win something? Cause I could use a win." She holds out her hand. "I'm May Parker." 

The handshake Mr. Suit gives is dry and brief. "I'm here on behalf of my employer, Tony Stark. He has some business he'd like to handle with you."

An incredulous little laugh bubbles up from inside her. "Tony's here?" She tries to squint inside the vehicle's tinted windows, halfway hoping to see him in there decked out in full Iron Man regalia. "No fucking way."

The rear window rolls down with a soft whir, and there he is. Tony Stark. There are fine lines at the corners of his eyes now, and the barest streak of gray hair at his temples. He's outfitted in a suit that probably cost more than her monthly rent.May feels a momentary flush of embarrassment at the fact that she's wearing yoga pants and an oversized pink shirt blaring the slogan, "Cardio is Hardio". There's a dramatic purple bruise around his right eye, but all it does is make him look dangerous. And May has always had a soft spot for bad boys. 

"Well I'll be damned," says Tony. "May Reilly?"

&&&&&

It was the summer of 1984. May was working the register at the Nathan's on Coney Island. It was hot as balls, and the smell of brackish water and old garbage hung in the air. The cheap polyester of her sunshine-yellow uniform shirt was itchy against her skin. It wasn't the best as far as jobs went--the crowds were annoying, the hours were long and every week she thought of quitting. But it paid enough to fund her fledgling smoking habit and was something better to do than sitting at home with her mom watching _General Hospital_. They always had to keep the volume cranked all the way up so it could be heard over their giant box fan. May spent her lunch breaks on the water, letting her mind clear as the grey-white surf curled around her toes and soaked the rolled-up cuffs of her jeans.

For the past week this awkward kid with messy dark hair and a struggling goatee had been stopping by each day. He'd buy a hot dog, cough out a mumbled, "hey, how's it going" and then flee. Once, clearly thinking he was out of May's line of vision, he chucked the hot dog in the nearest trash can, scowling. When he turned back to look at her, May had taken the opportunity to smile and wave. He waved back, but still he didn't say anything.

The other girls on her shift teased her about it. "He looks like he's about twelve, May, maybe you could see about getting a second job babysitting. We all know the pay here ain't shit."

May thought he was cute, though. He didn't look _that_ young, if the razor wounds that appeared on his neck every now and then were anything to go by - he was just a little on the skinny side. 

The next time he showed up, she was ready. Before he could order, she handed him an empty paper hot dog tray. On the inside she'd scrawled, "STOP WAISTING FOOD, THERE ARE STARVING CHILDREN IN JERSEY. - MAY REILLY."

"You spelled "wasting" wrong," was the first thing out of his mouth.

Spelling had never been May's strong suit. She rolled her eyes. "I'm done here at 9. Be here and make your case or go haunt someone else's minimum wage job."

That startled a smile out of him, one that he quickly tried to smooth over into an expression of calculated cool. "Nine, yeah. I can do nine." He took a step backwards before surging forward again, much to the annoyance of everyone behind him who was actually hungry. "I'm Tony, by the way." 

She didn't really expect him to return. May's best friend Sally always said that a man's delicate ego couldn't hold up in the face of a strong woman. May definitely considered herself a strong woman, but she also sometimes suspected Sally read too much _Ms._ magazine. 

To her surprise, Tony reappeared at 9:00 p.m. on the dot, just as she'd finished refilling the industrial size mustard pump for the next day. She was glad to be done. There were clouds moving in and she could feel the threat of rain in the air.

"You must get tired of smelling like onions and french fry grease every day," Tony said by way of greeting. 

May cupped her hand around a match, studying him carefully as she lit up a cigarette. She intentionally blew a stream of smoke in his direction. "Well, I'll only smell like onions through Labor Day. Boys smell like jizz, sweat, and socks for a good ten years of their lives and yet somehow, they survive."

He opens his mouth and shuts it again. "Okay, you got me. I remember they gave out bars of soap in my dorm as part of new student orientation. And...sorry. I don't know why I said that other thing. Before."

May snorted. "Apology accepted, but I'm in high school too, so you don't have to try and impress me. No way you're old enough for college."

Tony fumbled through his wallet until he could produce his MIT student ID card and thrust it into her face, defiant. He looked even younger in the photo, like they'd plucked him right off of an elementary school playground. 

May put her cigarette to death beneath the heel of her battered Keds. "Okay, Anthony Edward, MIT Student. Some of us have an 11 p.m. curfew. So what kind of date is this?" 

Tony put his hands hands in his pockets and sauntered toward her, a move that he'd clearly taken from a movie somewhere. She didn't call him out on it though, since it was really working for her. May felt her nipples tighten, suddenly sensitive against the fabric of her shirt. When he stopped, there were only scant inches separating her mouth from his. 

"Well," Tony drawled," that depends on what kind of date you want it to be." 

They got back to his car just as the skies opened up. It was this sporty red two-seater with what looked like fish gills on the sides. The interior boasted a number of buttons with mysterious functions; it even had a phone. The leather seat was soft against her arms as they both squeezed into the passenger seat. They had discarded all clothing from the waist down, but were too afraid of the cops to go full birthday suit. It was stuffy with the A/C off, and within a few minutes their thighs were glued together with sweat. Tony was already painfully hard, and would bite down on his lip and squeeze his eyes shut every time his cock grazed her stomach. She brushed the back of her hand against the shaft; it was only her second time around with this and she was afraid of doing something wrong. Tony whimpered and buried his face in her shirt, his cheek warm through the thin material of her shirt.

"Looks like you don't mind my onion smell so much right now," she couldn't help but remark.

"I don't know what you're talking about, I never said that. I love onions, onions are the best." 

When she kissed him, it was so, so sweet. She kept her eyes open so she could watch the way those long eyelashes of his fluttered against his cheekbones. His hands snaked up the sides of her ribs until his thumbs just barely grazed the underside of her breasts. She'd gone braless that day since underwire gave her a rash whenever it got too hot out. It had clearly paid off. May felt a wave of warmth wash over her slowly, building from within until she began to ache. When she put his hand between her legs, he started to shake a little. Suddenly, a bitten-off grunt escaped him and her stomach was coated in a hot, sticky fluid. May froze.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I - " His voice was nearly drowned out by the drumbeat of the rain on the roof. They were in for a real storm that night. 

"Have you done this before?" She could barely see his face; the sickly yellow glow of the street lamp outside wasn't much to go by.

Tony's face was the bright flaming red of a summer tomato. "Sort of? I wasn't entirely conscious at the time." He tried to laugh it off, but his gaze had dropped to somewhere around her belly button.

"Oh Tony." She cupped both hands around his face, feeling newly confident. "I'll take care of you."

&&&&&

"May Reilly?" Tony climbs out of the car and slides a pair of giant sunglasses on. It doesn't hide the way he's giving her an obvious once over. "So you're telling me that the same May Reilly who swore up and down that she was going to run away to LA to be a backup dancer for Paula Abdul, is now a mom in Queens. Will wonders never cease."

May can't believe that is what he remembers about her. She had forgotten about it herself. You see, not long after she and Tony parted ways, May fell head over heels for this cute boy from Brooklyn. Ben was a walking contradiction. As the frontman for a local band, he'd follow up a Saturday night gig with prompt attendance at church on Sunday morning. Sometimes he didn't even go to sleep. On one memorable occasion he forgot to take off his eyeliner, a scandal that followed him for months. How could May resist? Paula Abdul had nothing on Ben Parker.

"It's Parker, now," is the only thing she gives in response. "You know, Tony, most normal people just track down their high school exes on Facebook." 

"My Facebook page is run by sixteen people in my PR department and at last count, I had more friends than the President. Besides, not my style." She can see him picturing her at 17, gawky and birdlike with hair teased to high heaven. "God. You didn't change at all." 

"My hot flashes beg to differ, but thanks." They stare at each other awkwardly for a few seconds. "So, I gotta to get home and get dinner started. Do you want to come back to my place for coffee?"

As it turns out, he does. Tony leans in the car window and tells Mr. Suit to sit tight, then follows May the couple blocks back to her place. She wonders if he's checking out her ass, and is surprised to find that it gives her a little thrill to think he might be. 

"Just so you know, this is not normal behavior for me, just letting random men I barely know into my home." May jabs the button of the elevator in her lobby; they've been waiting for what feels like forever. "Take your sunglasses off Tony, we're inside."

"Do you know how obnoxious it is when people start to recognize me?" he protests. All the same, he takes them off once they are safely inside the elevator. "And are you saying I was the only one there that whole summer? Because I think I know you very well. Once upon a time, I knew you _biblically_."

A guilty little thrill runs up her spine. Their casual flirting doesn't feel wrong, and that, more than anything, is what puts her stomach in knots. Ben is barely six months cold in the ground. It's still too quiet in the evenings without him yelling out answers during _Jeopardy_ and _Wheel of Fortune_ . And there's the heart of it, really. Even though she has Peter, a lot of times May is so very, very lonely. 

"Why are you here, anyway?" she asks, as they make their way down the hall. "Does Stark Industries want to turn this building into an armory and you need an upright citizen to vouch for you? Cause that won't be me."

"We don't do weapons any more," he bites out, "and no, I'm here to, ah…" he fidgets, burying his hands in his pockets, "congratulate your son on winning a coveted September Foundation scholarship and entry into the Stark Industries internship program. He applied, he got in, and now I'm. Here."

May busies herself with digging her keys out of her gym bag. "Just so you know, Peter's my nephew. His parents passed when he was just a baby." 

Tony moves to quickly hold the door open for her, even though she could do it easily on her own. She can feel his body heat this close. He smells of expensive cologne and Simple Green, a scent recognizable because Peter always keeps it on hand to clean up with when he's been tinkering around. She hangs her keys on the hook near the door and goes to rummage through the fridge for some kind of refreshments. What do you serve a billionaire? 

"I don't remember him mentioning any internship," May wonders aloud. " Will Captain America be there?"

Tony scowls. "Captain America is a science experiment. The only thing he could teach anyone is how to throw a right hook."

May shrugs. "Could come in handy. This September Foundation thing must be a pretty big deal, if you're making house calls."

"Not for everyone, just the special ones. Peter's a pretty special kid."

May smiles at that, and it's genuine. "He is." 

She fishes out a carton of strawberries, but can't tell if they look too sad and squished to be worth eating. Tony peers at her over the top of the refrigerator door. He takes her left hand in his, and she feels the hairs on the back of her arm stand on end. 

"So. No ring, but I do see," he reaches across her to pluck a photo of Ben at Peter's at sixth grade science fair from the fridge, "this guy. Divorced?"

"Widowed."

He sucks in a breath through his teeth. "Not what I was expecting. Shit, I'm sorry."

"It wasn't what we were expecting, either." May puts the strawberries back in the fridge and shuts the door. She'll offer that walnut date loaf instead. She made it for Peter to have after school, but he should be fine to share it with the person here to offer him a large check and his very own mad scientist lab to play in. 

"Okay," Tony scrubs at his beard. "So I've been trying to turn over this whole new leaf where I stop making impulsive decisions without thinking of the long term consequences. But just for a second, I'm going to turn that leaf back over because honestly, this," he gestures at the air between them, "is something I am really into. So the only question that remains is whether -"

"Yes, I want you to fuck me." The words come as a surprise to both of them. She looks up to find that his startled expression mirrors her own. "What I meant to say was…"

He takes a step closer so that there's hardly any space between them. "What?"

The chemistry between them is still there, rising up hot and fast like banked coals exposed to air. There's a full body flush building from the tips of her toes all the way to her face and he's not even touching her. She was right to say that he barely knew her when she was a girl, but Tony has a point, too - after their ignominious start they spent the rest of their summer fucking on any available horizontal surface, and a couple of vertical ones to boot. That had to be worth something.

"My bedroom's down the hall."

Tony requests a hanger on which he very carefully stores his suit. It sort of ruins the trail-of-clothes fantasy she'd been building in her head, but she has no complaints once he's nude before her. He is, quite frankly, in ridiculously good shape for someone his age. The pale afternoon light throws all his good features into sharp relief. His abs are flat and hairless save for the sprinkling of hair leading from his belly button southward, and she discovers that his pubes are like the rest of him - fussily and meticulously trimmed. 

She rides him hard, hands braced against his shoulders. His hands are everywhere, on the worn-paper skin of her arms and the fleshy softness of her ass. When she slides down onto his cock his eyes flutter shut for only a second before they snap wide open again, and the lean and hungry look on his face as he watches her breasts move makes her feel beautiful. Even with the lube they'd liberally applied, it burns a little at the same time it gets everywhere and slicks up her thighs. She likes that edge of pain, even though her knees give up the ghost sooner than she would have liked. 

And oh, his mouth. This is entirely new. He gets a pillow underneath her and hooks her legs over his shoulders, then slowly opens her up with gentle fingers and the barest pressure from his tongue. He huffs out a laugh against her thighs when she pushes on his head, urging him to go faster. 

"Come on, I need more," she begs, but he will not be rushed. May pushes away the memory of Ben's near-submissiveness in bed, the way he got off on May's clear delight in telling her husband what to do. 

Tony plays her clit with the flat of his tongue, layering sensations until something within her breaks, electric and sizzling. 

They rest for a bit. May closes her eyes because that dark gaze of his unnerves her. It's too intense, too close. He doesn't have to say anything for her to know that he's conjuring up fantasies and plans of his own. He's still mostly hard but he bides his time, walking his fingers up the inside of May's thigh to slip inside her so they get good and wet. He uses her slick to slowly jack his dick until he's all the way there, the head dark and leaking. 

May drinks her fill of the scene before her and then pushes his hands away. She wants to know if he still gets noisy like he used to. It curves gently to the right in her mouth, salty and smooth against her tongue. Almost too big for her, but not quite. Her hair is longer now and it she lets it fan out across his hips. Tony throws an arm over his eyes, hips rolling skyward, little whimpers issuing from the back of his throat. 

"Fuck, May, I'm gonna - " he squeezes her shoulder as a warning.

She pulls off at the last second, and a little of it catches her on the nose and cheek as he shakes and shouts beneath her. May laughs out loud. "That will never stop being weird. It just shoots off, pew!"

He opens one eye and and gives her a look of disdain. "I just ate you out like a pro, I believe compliments are in order."

She curls up next to him and whispers praise against into his ear while his hand idly draws circles on her thigh. Usually this is when she would doze off, but sleep can't find her. She busies herself with mapping the new landmarks on his body. Still the same small, flat nipples and that funny bellybutton. His toes are hairier, as are his ears. He has a host of new scars, the most prominent among them a twisted pink web of flesh across the center of his chest. He doesn't offer an explanation. May rolls off to the side and doesn't ask. 

"I sent six letters to you when you were at school, and you only ever answered one," May tells the ceiling. "It was four pages about how much you hated having to take an English class. You also mentioned crashing the Testarossa."

Tony winces. "I think I paid someone to write that one. Or maybe my buddy Rhodey did it as a favor." 

"Wow. Sixteen year old you was an asshole."

"Sixteen year old me was an idiot, and afraid of commitment. But _you_ my dear, you are as delicious as the day I met you." Tony hooks a chin over her shoulder and nibbles on the side of her neck. May doesn't need a mirror to know she's blushing. "I wanna see you again. I think we can both agree that the sex is still good. And since I'm ancient now, I have social skills. Well, some. Let me do it right this time."

Months later, she still won't be able to pinpoint exactly what triggered it. Maybe it was the timbre of Tony's voice, or the tender way his hand was splayed across her stomach. But all of a sudden the only thing she is aware of is the wave of grief that rises up and crashes over her, squeezing all the air out of her lungs. Tears spill down her cheeks, so much so that she cannot see in from her. 

"Shit, I'm sorry, I don't know what I..." May shoves the sheets away from her and stumbles into the bathroom, not even bothering to cover up. Tony calls after her, concerned, but she's glad that he makes no move to follow her. Once inside, she locks the door but keeps the lights off and presses the heels of her hands to her eyes until the blackness in front of her becomes shifting beads of light. Her body feels so much joy, and yet, she feels like a traitor.

"Ben, this is okay, right? Tell me this is okay." She laughs wetly. "Cause I'll tell you, it was a hell of a lot of fun."

&&&&&

Tony has already retreated to the living room by the time May pulls herself together enough to remember that Peter will be home soon. She makes up a pot of tea to go with the bread. There's hardly enough space for it on the coffee table amidst the mess that permanently resides there, but oddly, she's not embarrassed. They've been through orgasm tears together, so it's only uphill from here on out. And her mind feels a lot better now, like clean air after the rain.

Tony's picking at his cuticles, something she remembers him doing back in the day whenever he was anxious. In particular, any time May insisted they hang out at his place instead of camping out in another cold and anonymous hotel room. Sure, Tony had the money for it and then some. But May greatly preferred poking around in his room among all the half-finished projects.

"You know, that was the first time I'd been with anyone since Ben passed. My therapist said it might be hard, but I really thought I was ready."

Tony clears his throat. "When my parents died, I went on a coke binge, wound up in rehab for six months and eventually became an arms dealer. I think you win." 

May laughs and pours herself a cup of tea. "You know, all those CNN stories where you just go around blowing things up don't give you nearly enough credit. I think you turned out okay."

When she turns to look at Tony again, his gaze is soft. If she leans in and closes her eyes, she can almost imagine it's a sticky July night in the cramped front seat of an '84 Testarossa. She was a seventeen year old high school senior and he was sixteen and in his second year of college, but all of that disappeared when they were wrapped up in each other's arms, whether it was in May's shoebox sized- bedroom, at the beach as the sun rose, or hidden away in the gorgeous, echoingly empty estate Tony called home. 

Just like that, they're off to the races again. Tony scrambles to his knees so he can tilt May backwards into the couch cushions. She follows him easily, still wet and bruised from before. He smells like stale sex and sweat (but not like socks) and May is going crazy. Tony's teeth graze the sensitive skin behind her ear. May fumbles at his tie; he never should have bothered putting it back on. She wants to consume him, to be inside him because her own body is no longer enough to contain whatever it is she's feeling.

Over his shoulder she catches sight of a picture of Peter on his twelfth birthday, big solemn eyes hidden by overly long hair. He didn't want a party, so it was just him and Ned and fifty bucks worth of entertainment at Dave & Buster's. That was before Peter metamorphosized into a sullen mystery who only came out of his room to eat. Back then, he'd still come home right after school and sit at the kitchen table for hours while Ben taught him how to tie fishing lures.

"I can see you thinking," Tony says, "and I don't think it's about me." He slides back into a sitting position and pulls her upright with him. "Spill."

"I can't believe I'm saying this but...this isn't a good idea." May scoots over to the far end of the couch, putting distance between herself and her traitorous libido. "Look. I'm the HR lady for a company that mass produces hoagie rolls, and you spend your weekends practicing hand to hand combat with Captain America. There is no common ground here."

"But there could be," he insists.

May sighs. "Tony, no." 

"First Cap, now you. I am really striking out today," Tony mutters under his breath. He takes one of her throw pillows and kneads it between his hands a few times. When he tries to smile at her, it looks more like a pained grimace. "I should've written you more of those letters."

"Maybe it's better that you didn't. I don't regret my life, Tony, do you?" She strokes his hair, gentle. She can't help herself. He's like a puppy, with those big, mournful dark eyes. 

"Yeah, let's not get into that." Tony catches May's hand and gently but firmly puts it back in her lap. There's a twinge of pain in her gut. It's probably for the best.

"Peter doesn't need any more crazy in his life right now. He needs stability, and he needs...do you know how many times he's come home late in the last few months? He keeps lying about where he is at night and I have no idea what to do about it. He needs something normal. An internship, even a fancy one with Stark Industries, is at least sort of normal. Tony Stark fucking his aunt is not." 

Tony stands up abruptly and does a tour around the living room, suddenly fascinated by her assorted tchotchkes. When he speaks, his words are bitter. "For the first twenty years of my life, everyone underestimated me. Everyone. He can probably handle more than you think."

"I raised Peter," May spits back. Now she's annoyed. Tony was always fun, but he was never easy. "I think I know him better than you do. Look, I don't want to fight. This clearly isn't going anywhere. Just...tell me something about this internship and promise me there are no aliens involved, because that's an automatic no."

He turns the idea over in his mind for a second. "What about synthetic humanoids, do they get a pass?"

There's an audible scrape as the key turns in the lock. Peter's home, so this is over. Tony returns to the couch. He hastily yanks off his crumpled tie and stuffs it into his pocket, runs a hand through his hair. As if by magic, he becomes the perfect picture of a composed businessman. It's a little unnerving.

"Here, eat some of this." May shoves the loaf of bread in his direction. Some people would say it looks well done, but the smoke alarm didn't go off this time so it's probably okay. "There's no reason for Peter to know that I know you, so let's try and look like two normal, middle-aged strangers. We'll talk about the weather." 

But Tony isn't paying attention; he's busy frowning at a spot on her face. He licks his thumb. "Sorry, you've got a little - " he scrubs at her cheek. "A little of ah, me, there." 

May scrubs frantically at her cheek. "I don't know if that's hot or if I'm grossed out. Maybe both."

There's a series of thumps as Peter unloads all his crap in the kitchen, exactly how she's told him not to at least a dozen times.

"Tony," May says. "We'll be alright." 

Before Tony can respond, Peter rounds the corner, already talking a mile a minute. May smoothes a hand down her shirt and forces a little extra cheer into her voice.

"Hey, how was school today?"

**Author's Note:**

> A significant part of this fic deals with May's dealing with her grief and sexuality in the wake of Ben's death. She spends a lot of time reminiscing about their former life, and wrestles with her guilt about sleeping with someone else. 
> 
> The underaged sex happens when May is 17 and Tony is 16. 
> 
> Tony also makes a one-line reference to a time when he was sexually assaulted as a college student; he was under the influence of drugs and/or alcohol and unable to consent. Within the fic we do not specifically learn how Tony feels about this.


End file.
